


Won't You Let Me In?

by nothingelsematters



Series: Liar [7]
Category: Bohemian Rhapsody (Movie 2018), Queen (Band)
Genre: Deacury sort of, Liar series, M/M, Masturbation, Maylor implied but not explicitly stated, Pining, Top of the Pops 1973, Unrequited Crush, fantasies, mostly because John is an oblivious sweetheart, or so they think, slightly angsty if you squint
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-29
Updated: 2018-12-29
Packaged: 2019-09-29 19:15:49
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,940
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17209364
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nothingelsematters/pseuds/nothingelsematters
Summary: John has a crush on Freddie and is very sure Freddie doesn't return his feelings.





	Won't You Let Me In?

**Author's Note:**

> Ha! Surprise! It's a sort-of-performance based Liar story!
> 
> This one is loosely based on Queen filming Liar for Top of the Pops in 1973: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=n3NoEIDjX3I As you can see, LOTS OF FREAKING ANNOYING effects on this video.
> 
> Obviously the sudden discovery of this video threw my original chronology out a bit but I've managed to rectify this with a minimum of retconning.

_Bisexual_.

It had taken John nearly a whole year to find a word that he thought suited him, but as soon as he’d read it and its definition he’d known it suited him exactly.

Not that he’d always been that way. No, in his teens he’d loved girls well enough, experimented with a few. Even at college he’d been around with one or two; his family friend Veronica had invited him to try some things with her so she could figure out if she was gay. (She’d plucked the cigarette she’d lit afterwards from her lips and placed it between his, and told him that yes, she was; but not to worry because she was sure he would be a fantastic lover for someone else.)

And then he’d seen Queen for the first time.

They’d been playing a gig at a bar John had gone to with some friends. The music had been okay; there was obvious tension among the four that suggested they didn’t get along all that well and the bassist was out of rhythm with the drummer, which made him cringe. But then the singer had opened his mouth, and John felt a strange sensation move up his spine, and he’d turned to look.

The singer – Freddie, John thought he’d heard – had a voice that was almost otherworldly. But it was his looks that had John frozen in his tracks. Liquid brown eyes, sparkling and shining with passion and mischief, outlined in pencil and framed by long eyelashes; midnight-dark hair, rippling like silk to his shoulders, movements graceful and elegant like a cat’s.

Their eyes had met and John felt like it was every cheesy romance novel rolled into one. Then Freddie had winked, and John had been left standing there, shaking and short of breath.

That night had not been the last night he had jerked off to thoughts of Freddie. But after a few months, the details faded, and Freddie became anonymous in his mind.

Then one evening at a party, a friend of his had grabbed his arm. “John,” he’d said, “come meet Brian and Roger. They’re in a band, and they need a bassist, and I told them you were good.”

That was the second time John had had what Veronica politely referred to as his “bi panic”, because Roger turned out to be pretty enough to pass for a girl, with his big eyes and long eyelashes and silky hair, and Brian’s long legs and long fingers had sent his brain spiraling off into all kinds of half-formed fantasies.

And then, for some unknown reason, Queen had chosen him as their new bassist, and John was doomed.

*

“There. You look so sweet!” the makeup girl gushed, and John tried not to cringe. He hated being called sweet; it was yet another reminder of how young he was compared to the rest of the band. He was twenty-two, for goodness’ sake, he wasn’t a child any more, and Queen weren’t playing just backwater pubs any more, they were about to go on Top of the Pops with _Liar_.

_You don’t mind when Freddie calls you sweet._

John glanced in the mirror as he made his way out to the stage. His outfit kinda didn’t help. The pale lace shirt with the darker stripes under his dark jacket, along with his bowtie, made him look young and innocent, not glamourous and sexy like the other three. He eyed off Roger as he got into position; Roger looked great, no sleeves and a metal cuff, and Brian in that floral jacket was an excellent look.

Freddie came into their midst quietly, almost appearing out of nowhere. John liked the black and white top with one sleeve missing and the white glove. He watched hungrily when he was sure Freddie wasn’t looking.

Heaven help him, even after two years in the band his crush on Freddie hadn’t gone away, and this song was not going to help. Live, John would add his voice in the vocal bridge; and the only way to do it was over Freddie’s shoulder.

Not helping anything was the fact that Roger was clearly in a foul mood over the whole having to mime thing. John couldn’t blame him too much; he hated miming too, but he was quite sure it wasn’t necessary for Roger to needle Brian quite as much as he was. If looks could kill, they’d need a new drummer.

John set his fingers to the strings as they started. He still wasn’t good at fake-strumming, so he turned the volume of his bass down low, and strummed properly. Brian was much better at this.

Freddie backed towards him slightly, and John found himself looking at the bare skin of Freddie’s shoulder, imagining kissing it –

The expression on the singer’s face was almost _coy_ as he moved away again, and John had to hastily remind himself that they were being filmed for television.

Not that Freddie seemed to care – he brushed up against Brian with deliberate movements, turning his whole body to face the guitarist and display what John could only describe as interest. He wondered how the BBC would react to that and only just managed not to giggle at the thought of some stodgy old man turning red with fury.

It was easier, now, to imagine there were no cameras, and John felt his body moving in a familiar way as he sank into the song and the rhythms he needed. Roger’s drumbeats were in his bloodstream, and he sent his own rhythms back, a silver thread of musical contact between them making one perfect beat.

The sound of cowbells was like a windchime in John’s mind, reminding him of what to do next; swallowing nervously, he approached Freddie, who had his bare shoulder dropped, throwing an inviting smile over his shoulder.

John leaned in, and imagined the red faces all over the BBC, and only just managed to stop a laugh; but it seemed Freddie had heard it anyway, because amusement was painted all over his face.

(He would later discover that the cowards at the BBC had cut to Brian every time John had sung, perhaps for fear of the way John and Freddie sang face-to-face; John wasn’t sure if the naked longing in his face was visible, but clearly it was all a bit much for those old fuddy-duddies.)

*

John had barely even set his guitar down in its case when there came a tap on the door of the changing room. Freddie leaned against the frame, a smile on his face, looking John up and down.

“Hey, John.”

“Hey, Freddie,” John replied, trying not to fidget nervously.

“I thought we could walk home together,” Freddie said casually. “Nearly ready?”

“Sure!” John was sure he’d answered a little too quickly, but he was rewarded with a wide, genuine Freddie smile, not the one he wore for their audiences.

“I’ll leave you to change, then, and meet you outside?” Freddie paused, and his eyes swept up and down again, and John was sure he was blushing. “Perhaps just change shirts for the walk, darling? You look rather handsome like that, but that shirt is entirely impractical.”

Yep, John was definitely blushing.

The door closed, and John hastily changed his shirt, pulling the black velvet coat back on. He tucked the bowtie into his clothes bag, and carefully wiped the stage makeup off his face. Anxiously, he checked his hair, then realised Freddie was probably waiting for him and hurried out.

Freddie was waiting, and he greeted John with another of his smiles that made John’s insides go warm.

“Shall we, darling?”

“Where – where are Brian and Roger?” John managed to ask casually as they set off on foot towards the apartment building.

“Oh,” Freddie’s smile grew mischievous, “They went back early to, uh, resolve their issues.”

“Good,” John replied. He hated it when they were at odds, and was glad they were going to talk it out. “Life’s so much easier when they communicate.”

Freddie’s face twisted into amusement. “Yes. Communication. Of course.”

They walked in silence for a long while, each lost in his thoughts. It was colder out than John had expected, and even the thickness of the velvet jacket wasn’t enough to keep it out. He didn’t realise his teeth were chattering until Freddie stopped them, concern written large on his face.

“John, darling, you’re freezing! Didn’t you bring a heavy coat or something?”

John shook his head. “Wasn’t – wasn’t this cold earlier,” he managed to force out.

Freddie shook his head and quickly unwound his scarf. “Here,” and he draped it around John’s neck, winding it up so that his bare neck was covered. The scarf was still warm from Freddie’s skin, and smelt faintly like his favourite perfume and something else. “You can wear that, darling, I was only using it as an accessory.”

“Th-thanks,” John stuttered, as they began to walk again. He wanted to close his eyes and snuggle into the scarf. What was the other scent?

“You’re welcome, darling. I can’t have my dear Deaky catching a cold, now.”

John’s cheeks heated up faster than he thought possible, and he was glad he could blame the redness on the cold and the snow that was starting to drive at their faces.

_My dear Deaky?_

The apartment was dark when they arrived back, but there was a light on under Brian and Roger’s door.

“Oh good, they’re making up,” Freddie said, amused. “John, dear, I think you should have a nice hot shower, you look positively frozen. I’ll make you some tea, all right?”

John nodded mutely, unable to speak for fear he’d just make a fool of himself. Making his way into the bathroom, he ditched his clothes bag at the laundry cupboard and closed the door.

He unwound the scarf carefully, tenderly, holding it up to his face to inhale the smell of _Freddie_. He recognised the other scent now – it was Freddie’s sweat, the way he smelled after a gig. Carefully, he laid it on the sink, wanting to get it out of the way of any water. Then he began to strip the rest of his clothes off, tossing them in the laundry hamper.

“John, my dear? I have your dressing gown and some slippers.”

John quickly grabbed his towel, wrapping it around himself before he opened the door to take the items from Freddie.

“Thanks, Freddie.”

“You’re welcome, darling.” And John was sure this time of the way Freddie’s eyes roved over the bare skin. “You get warm, okay?”

John nodded, and the door shut again.

He put his towel back on the rack and hung the dressing gown over the hook. Warm? He was already warm now, from the look Freddie had given him, the memory of Freddie calling him handsome, the bare skin of Freddie’s shoulder as he dipped it to let John come in to the mic…

The cold water that always came through at the beginning of the shower did nothing to deter John’s cock, which was now very interested in all the things that were flashing through his brain. Sighing, John closed his eyes and stepped under the spray as it warmed, the heat streaming over his skin, through his hair, warm like Freddie’s smile…

Some days, John felt ashamed of the fact that he would jerk off imagining Freddie, but this was not one of those days. Freddie had looked at him with something that could definitely be classed as interest. Maybe one day Freddie would see him as someone other than their sweet innocent bassist.

John ran his fingers through his hair, and then down over his chest, pausing a moment to pinch one of his nipples, relishing the buzz that sent down his spine. If he was supposed to be warming up in here, maybe he could take his time for once.

He grabbed the soap and ran it through his palms a few times, before sliding his right hand down over his stomach and gripping his cock firmly.

He started slowly, just short, simple strokes that were still made all the more pleasurable by the callouses on his fingers from guitar strings. He braced himself against the shower wall with the other hand, his head bent as he focused on the tingles that were starting to shoot across his skin. He brought up the picture of Freddie in his mind again, and let his brain take off.

_Freddie came into the bathroom unexpectedly; why was irrelevant. When he saw John in the shower, hand around his cock, he let out a soft breathy moan._

_“John, darling, why didn’t you ask? I’d help you.”_

_And then Freddie would be naked in the shower behind him, pressing himself up against John, encouraging John to have both hands on the wall while one of his own took hold of John’s cock. He felt Freddie nudging up between his thighs, his cock large and hot and heavy, rubbing up against John’s skin, building delicious friction. Freddie’s free hand came up to play with John’s nipple, and his mouth was open against his skin, telling him how beautiful he was, how perfect, how much he wanted him._

_John could do little more than push back as Freddie rutted between his legs, his hand growing still, and John moaned and whimpered at the loss of friction until he felt Freddie stiffen behind him, and hot come paint the insides of his thighs. He felt used, dirty, **filthy** , and it was wonderful._

_“Sorry, my darling,” Freddie whispered, kissing his jaw. “You’re just too beautiful. Turn around.”_

_John did, and was immediately rewarded by Freddie dropping to his knees and taking him in his mouth, licking and sucking and occasionally scraping his teeth, and John had his fingers tangled in Freddie’s hair, gripping him tightly as he fucked into Freddie’s mouth, his hips moving uncontrollably –_

John felt his body sag and his forehead hit the tiled wall as he came with a long groan, twisting his wrist to drag out the aftershocks for as long as possible. He stood there panting, watching without conscious thought as his come was washed away by the stream of water.

Maybe the next time they got drunk he’d have the courage to tell Freddie how he felt. Yeah, next time. He would. Then at least if Freddie said no he’d have an excuse to be even more drunk. Freddie would probably say no, after all. He was just plain ol’ Deaky, their sweet, innocent little brother.

Drying himself off, he slid his underwear back on and wrapped himself in the dressing gown. After a moment’s hesitation, he wrapped the scarf back around his neck, and opened the bathroom door.

Freddie was sitting at the kitchen table with a crossword and two steaming cups of tea.

“There you are, darling. You look warmer already. Come and drink this, I made that special tea you like. I’ll be right back.” Freddie dropped a kiss on John’s hair and made his own way towards the bathroom. John felt guilty. He had taken an awfully long time in there, without thought for the fact that he shared the apartment with three others who probably needed the toilet.

John took the tea in his hands and had a quiet sip. His body was relaxed now; his mind slightly less so, but it was soothed. Freddie would never see him that way, but it was hard to feel negative about it right now.

*

In the bathroom, Freddie bit down on John’s shirt, hastily stuffed in his mouth, as he pulled at his cock frantically, muffling his moans. How long had he stood outside the bathroom door? He hadn’t meant to, only he’d heard a sound as he walked past and had stopped to listen, fearing John was ill or hurt.

John definitely hadn’t been ill or hurt, and Freddie had been frozen to the spot at the moans and sighs he’d heard, the whimpers and cries that told him that John was getting himself off. And _oh_ , hadn’t that built a sweet picture in his mind? Beautiful, lovely John, naked and wet under the spray, hand working over his cock…

But what was it that John had cried out at the moment of his orgasm? It had sounded almost like Freddie’s name. No, that was about as likely as the sun rising in the west, it was probably some girl – one of the PA’s from today, perhaps, there had been some pretty ones there.

Still, it didn’t stop him from getting almost instantly hard, imagining their sweet John putting his hands on _him_ , kissing him, rocking against him under the spray…

Freddie bit down on John’s shirt again as he came, shuddering, into the wad of toilet paper he’d hastily assembled. He stroked more slowly as he let himself inhale the scent of John from his shirt, and then quickly tossed the paper in the toilet and the shirt back into the laundry pile, buttoning his pants and checking himself in the mirror to make sure he didn’t look too obvious.

One day, he thought, he’d have to tell John about his crush. Even though John would never return it, he’d have to tell him eventually, or he’d go mad.

Opening the bathroom door, he saw John sitting now on the couch, his legs tucked up under him, and he looked so soft and cozy that Freddie nearly melted then and there.

_One day._

_One day I’ll tell him._

_One day I’ll put it on the line, and let him know._

_Liar._

 

**Author's Note:**

> A bit shorter than usual, sorry!
> 
> Good news for those who are not following me on tumblr: there are at least six more outtakes to come! You can find me on tumblr at nothingelsematterswrites.tumblr.com where you can find me reblogging random Queen stuff (instead of writing) and answering asks about headcanons, as well as snippets and teasers of other things I'm working on as well as Liar.
> 
> Thanks so much to everyone who's stuck with me so far!


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